It's a singular fact that whenever I order My goblet of Guinness or bumper of Bass, Out of ten or a dozen that sport round the border, Some fly turns a somersault into my glass. Ah, believe me, fond fly, 'tis excessively sinful, This habit which knocks even blue-bottles up; Just remember what Cassio, on getting a skinful, Remark'd about every inordinate cup. Pray where is your home, and O, how will you get there, And what will your wife and your family think? Pray, now, shall you venture to show the whole set there That paterfamilias is given to drink? O think of the moment when conscience returning Shall put the brief pleasures of Bacchus to flight; When the tongue shall be parch'd and the brow shall be burning, And most of to-morrow shall taste of to-night. For the toast shall be tough and the tea shall be bitter, And even through breakfast this thought shall intrude; That a little pale brandy and seltzer were fitter For such an occasion than animal food. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SNOWFLAKES by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW PASA THALASSA THALASSA by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON AUSTERITY OF POETRY by MATTHEW ARNOLD INTRODUCTORY VERSES TO MARIA HACK by BERNARD BARTON ON THE DEATH OF MR. JAMES VALENTINE by JAMES HAY BEATTIE THE COLLEGE GARDEN; IN 1917 by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES |